


Ask Me To Stay

by Leszre



Series: /trænˈsendəns/ [5]
Category: Call Me By Your Name (2017), Call Me By Your Name - All Media Types, Call Me by Your Name - André Aciman
Genre: AU-after the book verse, Character Death, Con-Crits Welcome!, Domesticity, Fluff, I'm Bad At Tagging, M/M, Not Beta Read, Nurse!_Oliver
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-04
Updated: 2019-04-04
Packaged: 2020-01-04 14:04:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,573
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18345170
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Leszre/pseuds/Leszre
Summary: CMBYN one chapter AU sequel(??)..•Not-beta-ed,•Con-crits welcome! (I plea thee be ever so kind and gentle.)•uhmmm... quite dense & expositional (just sayin' *shrug*).My Request: though I don’t foresee this from ever happening,please ask meif you, in any way, feel that this drabble is worthy of being shared in any platform other than AO3.





	Ask Me To Stay

**Author's Note:**

> I think this one is T at best but M, just to be safe.  
> .  
> Please _forgive_ me!  
> .  
> As with my other fic, this might not be your thing as I tend to spew out unusual interpretations. Even if you don’t like mine, please keep being a valuable fanfam member of CMBYN in AO3. Each and every one of you are important in this fanfamdom world and its continued existence. Grazie!  
> .  
> It’s over 8K words. Do please begin at your discretion.*quickly waddling away*

####  **Ask Me To Stay**

 

 

“No! I want him under,” Oliver says with firm tone, one that is too calm and measured for the given situation, a face expression borderline murderous, “if I’m going to consent him to be on the ventilator, this is the only way it’s going to happen.”

Kevin supports Oliver by citing multiple real cases during past outbreaks, successfully managing critical patients of viral hemorrhagic fever, by putting them under medically induced coma.

“Since Mr. Perlman is already hooked up with the dialysis machine, he may have a better chance–.”

CDC doctors and management argue amongst themselves.

“Hey! Hey! Gentlemen!” the nurse manager, Oliver’s boss Silvia, steps in between and gestures everyone to calm down.

“I’ve been here thirty years and trust me, this is not the time or a place to argue policies or politics. So I see only two choices: one, you take your ‘I have a bigger dick than yours’ outside or two, just focus on the patient care. No, I mean it! Geez! There hasn’t been a single cock-and-bull in my floor, on my watch, and I’m not about to allow one. Not today!”

*

_Have you ever wished that you could live a day all over again?_

*****

**Twenty four hours ago | mid-afternoon | Year 2009 and/or 2010-ish | Living room | Concord, NH**

A tiny upbeat b-oop rings as a little pop up appears on Oliver’s laptop monitor screen:

/‘look at me, babe.’/

“Did you just message me?” asks Oliver, huffing out a laugh through his nose with a candid and open smile.

Elio just shrugs his shoulder a little.

Oliver just shakes his head lightly. Elio groans a drawn out sigh, rolling his eyes. To that, Oliver tosses a quick glance over the top of the monitor.

“Urgghhh–––, I thought it was supposed to be our quality time together.”

*

 

**[Part One: Finding My Way Back]**

It was a beautiful North East Summer afternoon. The mild breeze brushed and encircled gently yet playfully caressing pass, providing cool relief from the hot summer sun. Oliver, fifth year trauma team nurse, has been on one of the most grueling shift. There was a mixture of multiple vehicle accidents on the highway while a fire from a faulty-wire engulfed the whole building just outside the downtown Hanover, NH. Everyone in the Dartmouth-Hitchcock ER, the level one trauma center in the North East, buckled down and volunteered to lend their hands. Oliver came home 36 hours ago and slept the first 18 hours. When he finally had enough coffee in his system the next mid-afternoon, he sat his ass in front of one of his prized possession: laptop. Yes, Oliver did run five miles before he had his fill of Elio that morning. And yes, despite his schedule, Oliver has been working on his doctorate in healthcare management. (as a total, this is going to be his fourth post-graduate degree.)

After 9/11, Oliver ditched his long lauded academic career of philosophy professor at Columbia and decided to become a trauma unit nurse. The word ‘ _ditched_ ’ may not be the most suitable or somewhat strong a term, but that was how it appeared to everyone else. Most people told Oliver it was a career suicide that his seemingly nonsensical, bold, yet painfully specific choice. Some even had the gall to say Oliver was going through his mid-life crisis. Because Oliver was well into celebrating his 15th years as a professor (tenth, tenured). His classes were always the first ones to get filled. It was incredibly usual for Oliver’s TAs to scramble through the large stack of ‘please extend the class limit’ request one by one with the registrar’s office, at the beginning of each and every semester. Students from across the discipline adored his all American golden boy charm. Some just came to the lecture hall just to stare at and fawn over him. Books he published were always beloved by many readers, even the ones that were so dry and sorely collegiate. Some even took Oliver’s unique stance on Heraklean exploration method on philosophy and history by visiting Greece and Turkey.

But for Oliver, the tragic event of the early autumn in 2001 affected him so deeply, he couldn’t just sit comfortably in the bubble of academia. He had to do something. Oliver wasn’t qualified to join the military as he has way passed the age limitation, set by four major branches of U.S. Nor did he have any prior service record to take advantage of special recruitment program. Hence, becoming a trauma unit nurse.

Two years later, grueling schedule of sleeping only three to four hours, juggling Columbia and his nursing studies, Oliver became a RN and he didn’t mind the grunt work of being a newbie. In fact, he insisted on working his way up from the very bottom. On the things he lacked as a mid-40s new nurse, he made up with his personability with the staff and colleagues and bedside manner with patients.

Next Summer (2004), Oliver decided to visit the villa. He was scheduled to hold his last few lectures around the affiliated schools in European countries.

Familiar sound of the sun baked gravel rolling under the cab greeted him. This time, there was no other passenger but him. A large oak tree leaves casting cool shade still stood in the middle of the courtyard, letting hot Italian sun ray glint through as its branches gently swayed in the wind. From the left, chorus of cicada he remembered so vividly swelled. Just like the first time he arrived at Crema, Elio greeted him. Elio was now clean shaven, unlike five years ago, wearing loose white linen shirt, the top button neatly undone, over khaki slacks. His breath hitched, seeing him standing there. While they were exchanging pleasantries, Oliver couldn’t take his eyes off of Elio. Like a fine wine, Elio’s smile lines beautifully matched his natural curls where there were no hints of grey hair. (To be honest, Oliver thought those lines only accentuated his bright hazel eyes.) His skin was lightly tanned, almost in a golden olive undertone, complimenting those beautiful two globes that gained immeasurable depth and wisdom, then seventeen-year-old did not possess.

“Old room?” Elio asked.

“Old room,” Oliver confirmed, even though they’d arranged everything by email already.

Elio smiled, his remarkable hazel eyes forming into the loveliest crescent moons, “old room it is, then.”

That night, after unpacking and happily stuffed with Mafalda’s home cooking (that he missed sooo much), Oliver laid his heart bare to Elio, for the first time in his life. (He recalled that it felt like he was just mumbling bunch of stuff, incoherently.) Oliver started with his eldest being accepted into NYU through early decision. He figured it was a good a subject as any.

“Ambitious academic just like his father,” Elio offered with a soft smile.

Oliver mirrored. Then he updated what he has been doing for the past couple of years. Elio just nodded lightly in adequate intervals, quietly filling and emptying his lungs. When Oliver began with him passing the NCLEX-RN, Elio just raised his eyebrows with a genuine, unveiled surprise. Oliver quelled his nervous chuckles, keeping his explanation short on his recent unconventional career decision.

“I know, would you believe me becoming a nurse was the reason I have an ex-wife?”

Elio went still, looking at him, without words, when Oliver said that he has been living alone near the campus. He parted his lips first but there were no immediate words, only an inaudible gasp. It seemed Elio, indeed, was stunned by the news. Oliver could see a series of emotion running though him. So he sat there rubbing at his evening stubble, sensibly giving Elio a little moment.

“H- how?” Elio stammered, “when?”

Oliver half-expected questions like, ‘not because you finally came out to her? But because you decided to become a nurse?’ Those words never came.

“Three years ago,” Oliver replied.

With a look of confusion, Elio simply dumped out his chest. Oliver eyes darted slightly, gauging Elio as he sat across from him, blinking. The pack of cigarettes on the table looked incredibly appealing. But he didn’t reach out for it. The sweat formed on two tall glasses’ surface trickled into lazy dew drops. Elio’s chest finally heaves. With a small smile, Oliver began. It was a short version of his ‘coming out’ story to his sons. Oliver rubbed at the back of his neck with his large palm, uncharacteristically and a little fretfully, chuckling tensely with a doting yet an awkward half-smile.

“They just went, ‘oh, that? we already knew,’ and carried on playing video games.”

Elio could tell it mattered to Oliver very much. _What a relief he must have felt_ , Elio thought. Oliver calmly added that he’d be doing his _real_ internship at NYU hospital shortly after this trip. (‘by taking advantage of the end of tenure sabbatical,’ Oliver explained without being prompted.)

“So, that’s that,” said Oliver, rubbing his palm on his thigh, “uhh… so… how are things? With you, I mean.”

A couple of awkward smiles ping-ponged between them. Elio was clearly surprised and Oliver couldn’t blame him. So he segued into what one of his colleagues told him: that Elio has been working with Maestro De Souza. Elio knew that Oliver would eventually find out. Or he’d hoped.

“Yeah, urhm, five years ago,” Elio shrugged, “I uh… I’ve worked with him on few projects before, but that was when I started collaborating with him.”

Rodrigo was relentless. Although Elio recognized his brilliance, as the music community undoubtedly has been, he was definitely off his rockers. If it wasn’t for Ms. Hailey, whose name Rodrigo kept pronouncing as [hā lī], Elio probably kept declining the maestro’s request. Two laughed (Oliver: his deep throaty laugh) when Elio told him about an incident that happened at Vienna.

“And he just kept insisting everyone to flap their arms like birds.”

“What a character!”

At that moment, the rusty tension and stroppy discomfort finally dissipated between them. Maybe it was because of late Pro Perlman’s favorite choice of night cap: the bottle was almost empty.

“I don’t remember the crickets.”

“Yeah, they started, only few years ago.”

Two sat there, citronella candles burning, with a long content sigh, almost in unison, happy to occupy the same space and time. Mafalda came out and asked if they’d require anything before she head home. Oliver offered his thanks again and they exchanged two pecks on their cheeks. His Italian needs some brushing up, Elio thought to himself. The long summer sun already said goodbye and magnificent shade of water-color blue-blanket of dusk settled, coloring the old beauty of country home. Oliver stood there taking in the scenery for few moments. Another content long sigh.

And that was when Elio heard why Oliver decided to come to the villa.

Elio couldn’t believe his ears.

“I still don’t know where I fit in this world. For one reason or another, I felt like I had trouble finding my way. I thought, following the seemingly right path would relieve the dissonance I’ve always felt. It didn’t. I thought, by having all the exterior means of success and achievement would fill the void I’ve always had. Here,” Oliver tapped his fingers on his chest.

Twenty years later. Here he was. After all the heart-wrenching sorrow, the miles and miles of separation without even saying a proper good-bye, the hurt from the realization that he was a personification of a short summer jaunt infatuation, the abandonment he felt, the hatred he saturated himself with for not being rational enough to fall in love that summer, knowing it was only for six weeks, the betrayal that daggered right in the middle of his chest when Oliver refused to climb into his bed that cold winter evening, and, and… the agony of seeing Oliver leading a life with his walls and forts high and might. Two decades of his life without Oliver: Oliver’s wife, Oliver’s sons, everything that _could_ and _should_ have been _his_.

Oliver went on and filled Elio in on the grateful moments of his life; holding his sons for the first time, sleepless nights that followed, the pride he felt at each and every little accomplishment they made.

“Through it all, I kept finding myself holding on to these values. The ones I read from the books when I was naïve, daring, and young. Before I was weighed down by responsibilities, bills to pay, appearances to keep,” Oliver stifled a sorrowful huff, his gaze falling forlornly, “what it means to be who I really am. The true north. The morality. The sense of being just me,” Oliver seemed to retrieve into his own reverie.

“And then there was _you_ ,” Oliver sighed.

“I guess… no,” Oliver let out a short sigh with a curt shake of his head, as if to tell himself, ‘phrase it better.’

“I was wrong,” another sigh, “the whole time. Believing in that, being a contributing member of society, being a grown up, meant that pushing aside what my heart was saying. I was a fool, Elio.”

Twenty years later. Oliver was asking Elio for forgiveness, finally allowing himself to stand up for himself and fessing up the years of cowardice. The lies he hid himself behind, a carefully built façade of being an outwardly respectable middle class man, the guise he justified himself that he was doing the right thing for everyone involved, and, most of all, the true and deepest emotions he haphazardly and carelessly swept under the rug, all those years ago.

“I know I am in no position, or have any right to ask of you this but,” Oliver began after a pause that seemed like a million years.

When Oliver was done, he huffed out a worried sigh, raising his chin just a litte, and finally met Elio’s eyes: those sapphire blue, Elio so dearly, desperately missed, all these years. In his two magnificent blues, there was no hint of irony, no false pretense, or carefully choreographed concealment. Oliver was finally, _finally_ holding his gaze as he did, so long ago.

“Uhh…,” Elio managed a syllable, after opening and closing his mouth a several times, “what–, what are you saying?” was all Elio could string together, with his irises completely blown.

Oliver didn’t return an answer immediately.

A sudden storm of absurd and outlandish thoughts ran across Elio’s mind. Maybe Elio forgot to blink his eyes as they felt hot; maybe he drank too much and all this was just one of those dreams he had long long time ago; or maybe this was one of bad acid trips he had while he was in college. This could not possibly be _real_. Elio's head buzzed. Someone please slap the fuck out of me.

He sat frozen, completely and utterly stunned.

“It has _always_ been you. _Only_. _You_.”

There were no more words. And Elio didn’t know what to say, either.

 _Please say something._ Oliver’s eyes pleaded.

*

 

**[Part Two: Together and a Life called “Us”]**

The following year, Elio moved to States and Oliver successfully survived the first year of being an ER nurse. To Oliver’s surprise, Columbia ended their relationship amicably, offering him an honorary professorship; meaning Oliver could teach there without any repercussion, if he so chooses, in the future.

Another year flew by and Elio had a long list of job offers, including the one of the lucrative Broadway production companies. In the end, Elio picked the one that resonated closest to his heart. He wanted to rejuvenate the youth music culture via non-profit means. So he picked a music director position of New Hampshire Philharmonic. Of course, Elio’s decision was based heavily on Oliver’s then recent job interview. For some reason, Elio had a strong sense of certainty that Oliver would get the position he so wanted for a long while. Elio figured that he could commute from Hanover to Salem: 4 hour round-trip (two by express commuter train). Because there was no way, Elio was going to let Oliver commute. Are you saying I’m old? Don’t be ridiculous. When Oliver asked him specifically a reason why, Elio just shrugged it off without saying much. But Oliver knew.

Three weeks passed and two more interviews later, Oliver signed the dotted line. Elio congratulated him again over the phone when Oliver called as he was walking out of the building. As soon as Elio pressed the ‘end call’ button, he busied himself on finding a place to live around Hanover. Elio’s new support staff happily volunteered to assist on house hunting. Elio surmised that their enthusiasm had everything to do with Elio getting them a signed copy of Maestro De Souza’s album.

His phone buzzed, indicating a new text message. Elio thought it was odd since they just talked. The text only contained an address in Concord, NH. He typed in the address on his computer screen and it said that the place was about 40 minute-drive away from his a week old new job. Techinically, it wasn’t really out of the ordinary. A self-proclaimed true pragmatist and realist, Oliver has always believed in saving time going from point A to B. So it wasn’t unusual since two would frequently rendezvous at a restaurant or an event separately. Often, Oliver enjoyed surprising Elio with trying new things as small as new coffee bar, food trucks, a new play or a farm team and/or amateur sports event. In more than few occasions, Oliver just requested him to meet him at a park Elio never thought to visit. Naturally, therefore, Elio considered the address was for a place or an event in New Hampshire that Oliver wanted _them_ to visit.

When Elio arrived near the location, he realized it was a residential area. _What is he up to?_ Elio mulled a curiosity in his head. As the taxi driver turned the corner, Elio found Oliver standing in front of a house.

“Was the ride okay?” asked Oliver, pulling Elio into a hug with one big swoop of his left arm, pressing his lips on Elio’s temple.

Elio praised about the metro being cleaner than that of New York’s, which made Oliver laugh out loud. Elio asked about how Oliver’s trip was to here. Without much word, Oliver offered a smile, held Elio’s hand, brought the back of Elio’s hand against his chest and led him around the back of the house. It had a similar atmosphere of the villa in Crema. Gravel path leading back to the backyard. A wrought iron gate that creaked. The house was old and needed a lot of improvements. But even in non-architects eyes, Elio could see a strong structure and foundation of the building. The backyard was about an acre. There were several pomegranate trees on the south corner. Lawns needed mowing. The hedges needed a trim. Oliver added that they could plant some peach and apricot trees. There was a good size porch: brick laid, even rectangular space – resembling a lot of how Crema villa was.

“We could have barbeque or have meal drudgeries,” said Oliver with a light air quote. Elio playfully winced a little. Oliver chuckled pulling him in close. Then, he led Elio in through the back door which had a large mud room. Once two were inside, Oliver showed Elio the rooms: one by one. It had a large living room, a separate wine cellar, a study with built-in library shelves, and a double door foyer, not to mention a sitting room, on top of three good sized bedrooms.

“So, what do you think?” ask Oliver, “do you like it? You can be honest, you know that, right? But if you don’t like it,” Oliver quickly offered, “we have seven days to––.”

“Oliver,” called Elio affably, with his open palms raised, gesturing him to slow down, “I do like it,” added Elio.

Oliver dumped out a huge sigh, “uh, good!” his shoulder sagging a little with a relief and finally smiled. He looked genuinely happy and gave a short but a little exaggerated ‘whew–’ with a faux gesture of wiping his forehead. Oliver then carried on and said he picked this property because they could renovate it as they saw fit and told Elio of all the ins and outs of city permit and real-estate related stuff.

“Wait, you already bought the property?”

Oliver’s eyebrows shot up with an awkward smile with a hesitant ‘uh–’ before he finally admitted with, “essentially.”

“I don’t… how?” Elio spluttered, still smiling but completely bemused, “when–?

Before Elio had a chance to finish his question, Oliver presented that he cashed out his retirement option (that he received from being at Columbia for more than 20 years) and put down the deposit for this country home for both of them, adding that his benefit could cover the renovation and it would take up to six months. Without missing a beat, Oliver then confessed that he wanted to give everything he and Elio missed out. The entire time, Elio just looked at him wide eyed. But Oliver did not forget to repeat his previous statement of if Elio didn’t like the property, Oliver could always pull out of the deal.

“It’s sort of a half way, you see,” added Oliver, meaning the distance from their job locations, “the metro is really good. So neither of us need to drive for a commute.”

Elio didn’t know what to say. The part where Oliver proudly declared that he checked the rush hour express train schedule and arrived at the conclusion that the commute would only take less than half the time became a muffled, faded out sounds to Elio. Not because he didn’t want to hear but on the fact that knowing Oliver, he probably spent countless hours; searching and calculating the practicality of picking a suitable place for both of them, weighing the pros and cons of owning a house versus a renting one, wracking his brilliant brain to make sure the best possible option for both of them. And Elio stood there and couldn’t offer any proper response.

That was when Oliver, a six-foot-five, a mountain of a man, knelt in front of him.

*

 

**That Evening | Year 2007 | Oliver and Elio’s Condo | New York, NY**

“We are going to leave the property to your kids,” said Elio, trying to even his breaths, his skin glistening with a thin layer of sweat. Oliver pressed his lips on Elio’s damp hair. Elio was aware that it wasn’t a suitable subject for the immediate post-coital moment but it was important for him. He meant about drawing up their living will. The one they have been discussing for quite some time. Elio moaned quietly and sucked in a tiny sharp breath as Oliver glided out of him. ‘You okay?’ Oliver whispered affectionately. Elio rumbled his throat with a low mhmmm before he said, ‘me okay.’ Oliver’s gently closed lips smiled wide and simply wrapped his arm around Elio’s waist as he lied down next to him. Oliver gently threaded his right arm between the pillow and Elio’s neck. Elio scooted a bit to become a fateful little spoon. Oliver’s right arm bent at the elbow and caressed Elio’s head as he lazily nuzzled against Oliver’s arm, kissing the crown of his damp curls. Elio laid his left arm atop of Oliver’s and interlaced their fingers. Oliver let out a long happy hum, nosing against into his curls, and took in a lungful there when Elio ran his fingertips over their ring fingers.

“What?” asked Elio softly, at hearing Oliver’s enchanted sigh, feeling Oliver relax against his body.

“Nothing,” was all Oliver said burying his nose in Elio’s curls.

*

 

**Four days ago | Year 2009 and/or 2010-ish | Concord, NH**

Almost a day and a half ago, Oliver sighed, leaning against Elio, at the door as soon as he stepped inside their house: six-foot-five, a duffel bag strap slung over on his left shoulder, his hair mostly platinum blond, still damp from hospital shower, sapphire blue eyes mercilessly blood shot, back of his hands rough and dry from countless repeated hand washes.

“Do you want me to run a bath for you?” asked Elio into the jut of Oliver’s clavicle. Oliver just shook his head, burying his nose into Elio hair, and hummed quietly. When Oliver refused to let go of him, Elio held Oliver in, completely encased in his embrace, (a literal bear hug). After taking in a blissful inhale, Elio carefully side-stepped saying a short, ‘come on, old man,’ and led him to their master bedroom. Elio could feel Oliver smile against his skin. His wonderful husband was literally falling asleep, just like that. When Elio let go of one of his hands from Oliver’s mid-back, to open the bedroom door, Oliver made a small sound of protest. Such a baby. Oliver just growled low with an exhale. Though teasing, the moment such as this was the only far and few between occasions that Elio felt he was a guardian and a protector. After few more side steps, they plopped on the bed together. Elio just huffed out a few soft laughs through his nose.

The blond muttered against the pillow, asking Elio to stay, in almost irrecognizble mumble. It’s only five in the afternoon. Oliver lifted his arm, slow-slit-opening his heavy lidded eyes. The dark curls rolled his eyes, though with a wide smile, sighed out a syllable that was definitely meant to deliver his ‘I’m not amused’ sentiment. It was all a pretend. A little game they play. But Elio caved in as soon as he heard a low but rough, yet still gorgeous reverberation of Oliver’s voice pleading, “you don’t even know how much I missed you, do you?”

Elio took off his sweatshirt up and over his head, pulled down his pajama bottom, and tucked himself in the cozy embrace of tired-to-the-bone love of his life. Elio always preferred skin to skin. No pretenses, nothing to hide. Just skin. Oliver let out a long and satisfied, ‘hmmmmm,’ as he lazily nestled his head against Elio’s temple, pulling him in close. Featherlight touches of moist soft lips continued on Elio’s forehead and his eyes. Elio gently ran his fingertips on the tuft of hair on Oliver’s chest, drawing small gentle circles: he always loved how they felt against his hand. And Elio stayed until Oliver’s breaths evened out,  peaceful and calm. The hazel eyes felt Oliver’s muscle relax gradually, one by one; first it was his face, his long blond eyelashes casted low and still, his stubble covered jaw muscles letting go of its innate tension. Then his shoulders and his beautiful neck, (where Elio loves to just kiss and kiss), which made Oliver’s head to lean fully against Elio’s. It was such a gratifying experience for Elio; that he could provide the sense of security and comfort for the one he deeply love and adore.

Oliver’s mind and body serenely drifted in to the night, his nose buried in between Elio’s luscious dark curls. Well, in truth, it took less than a blink of an eye for Oliver to give into the prolonged exhaustion. Elio quietly pressed his lips on Oliver’s, ever so slowly peeled Oliver’s arm from his torso and gently wriggled out of his embrace.

When Elio pulled out the whole content of Oliver’s duffel bag, things were sorted out in different air tight bags, as usual: undies, undershirts, socks. He didn’t bring his scrubs. It only meant one thing: he tossed them into medical waste pile. Elio’s chest heaved a bit and sighed.

Despite Oliver’s insistence, Elio slept in the guest bedroom. Oh, yes, Oliver did voice his complaint when he woke up the next morning.

The linen curtains filtered the crisp white ray of morning sun, letting it shine softly into the guest room. It was one of the things Elio loved most about the guest room. After a series of languid and long lazy stretches, Elio got up out of the bed and trotted into the guest room’s half bath. While emptying his bladder, he yawned involuntarily. He yawned so wide, his eyes teared up. Not too bad, Elio thought to himself, standing in front of the mirror, lightly ruffling his curls just above his forehead and rubbed at the crust on the corner of his eyes with a softly clenched knuckle. Another yawn. He briefly considered about shaving but he didn’t have his razor up there. So he led his feet to carry him down and to the kitchen, prepared the coffee, and washed a couple of fresh fruits he picked yesterday from the back garden. When the toaster popped two slices of halved bagels, Elio casually tucked one between his teeth while running his hand on the counter to collect the crumb. He stood against the kitchen island, feeling content about how good the coffee turned out. Soon, the honey glow of filtered mid-morning sun (Elio insisted on the color _Cream_ for kitchen curtains) started to warm the kitchen air. Everything was perfect.

Soft brushing sound of bare feet against the laminated floor came close to the kitchen. With his dry mouth, even but still slightly panting, Oliver wrapped his sweaty arms around Elio’s waist, laying a slow chaste kiss just below Elio’s ear lobe. No matter the weather, no matter the schedule, no matter the location, he ran: every. single. day. A smile bloomed on Elio’s face.

“Sleep okay? How was your run?”

Oliver just hummed and pressed up behind him, adjusting his stance a little for a complete embrace. Elio loved Oliver’s skin against his body.

Although he knew Oliver was at work saving lives, not being able to see him every day was still tough. It has been five years, Elio reminded himself, dredging up his objectivity and level-headedness. Yes, Oliver did insist he should come home but Elio insisted back, as fervently, for him to stay at the hospital. Coming home just to go back a couple of hours later didn’t seem practical, factoring in what was going on in the ER. But Elio did pine at the coldness of the bed without Oliver to cuddle up to. So, though clammy, Oliver’s warmth was welcoming change of pace. What a lovely weekend we’re gonna have. Lovely? Thank you for doing the laundry. You are doing the sheets. Did you check the apricots? They’re getting there. Oliver cradled his palms on the jut of Elio’s hipbone: his left hand on Elio right hip, his right on Elio’s left. It felt really good being held like this, blanketed by Oliver. Especially, when he could smell him, just him, accept for his deodorant, as running made his skin toasty warm.

“I made you coffee,” said Elio delightfully, with a soft smile.

“I know something better to wake me up than a cup of joe.”

“What’s this, then, sleep walking? Auto-pilot?”

Oliver grumbled against Elio’s skin, smiling, running (more gliding from how Elio felt) his lips ever so slowly against the nape of Elio’s neck.

“Hungry?” asked Elio, lifting his plate with a toasted bagel.

Oliver tightened his hold and pulled in Elio snug against his lower abdomen. The corner of Elio’s lips quirked up a little, feeling the full contact of Oliver’s bulging lower half.

“Uh-huh,” replied Oliver, running one of his palms slowly up against Elio’s chest.

“I meant food,” Elio wiggled lightly, nudging his elbow playfully against Oliver’s torso, chuckling lightly.

Oliver’s eyes flickered, his chin on Elio’s shoulder. He was glad that Elio couldn’t see this very expression. Because the heat pulling heavy on his lower pelvic area was a difficult one to pace. Oliver surprised himself with the amount of restraint he was currently able to summon. But the mood for today was already set, even before he woke up this morning. And Oliver was determined that he was not going to breach that confidence. Not today.

Although Elio may never admit this, it was _he_ who set the tone of how they would make love. (Making love may not be the preferred choice of expression but…) It always has been, ever since their first night together, all those years ago. Plus, Oliver vowed to himself that he’d never ever forget to let Elio know how much he means to him, that it was and has always been him. The one and only. Oliver was willing to accommodate in any way he could, as long as he was able, in whichever way Elio’d want him.

“I missed you last night,” Oliver breathed the words, slow, balmy, and alluring, peppering his kisses on Elio’s skin. A confession, a blatant truth. A soft entry point to re-test the water.

“Well–,” offered Elio midly, “I wanted you to rest,” lithely leaning into Oliver’s kisses.

Oliver sighed out steadily, through his nose and, “a little bit of wearing out wouldn’t have been too bad.”

“Says the man who fell asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow.”

At that, Oliver suppressed his grunt with an intentional hard swallow. Though Elio didn’t completely go back into his shell, there was a serious re-warming to do. Oliver ran his large hand possessively on Elio’s flank and up to the other side of his ribs. With his other hand, Oliver ghosted his fingers slowly tracing along Elio’s gorgeous neck. Oliver’s hold on him was, though in gradual increments, becoming fiery and overwhelming; his broad frame flush against Elio’s back, ready to encase him in whole, if Oliver’d so desire. Elio protested quietly with low whine, pleaded with a single word, “babe–,” as Oliver slipped his hand down the front of Elio’s shorts, humming.

Oliver knew exactly where and how to touch, caress, and entice Elio, just enough tug and pull: sometimes deftly. sometimes greedily. Elio stifled a moan into a controlled guttural noise. Oliver raked his fingertips, his fingers splayed wide, along and over Elio’s lightly trembling skin, knowing full well that Elio was indulging his touches. Hot exhale escaped through Elio’s parted lips. Oliver gently guided Elio’s arm, raised it up and over so he could hook it over his neck and shoulder. Oliver trailed his fingertips along the soft flesh of Elio’s inner arm. Elio’s long lashes flutter-closed as he gasped.

“Would you like me to carry you to bed?” whispered Oliver into Elio’s ear, brushing his cheek against the dark curl.

“Yes, please.”

*

 

**Twenty four hours ago | mid-afternoon | Year 2009 and/or 2010-ish | Living room | Concord, NH**

“Urgghhh–––, I thought it was supposed to be our quality time together.”

Oliver heard him right the first time but he always enjoyed seeing Elio pout. So he holds his response a bit little longer and gets the very thing he wants.

“Three times weren’t enough?” Oliver offers, “insatiable!” grinning mischievously.

“Perv!” Elio grumbles, “You’re the one to talk,” tossing a fistful of pistachio shells at Oliver.

Oliver grins, holding up his palm to shield his face from ivory colored empty half shells, “you know I have soft feet. I don’t like stepping on these.”

Elio throws another handful at him.

“I’m up for another if you managed to recharge,” teases Oliver, swiping the scattered shell on top of the table, gathering them into a small pile.

“Ugrhhh–––, I hate you!”

*

 

It was four times if one were to count the mutual hand job they exchanged, with Elio’s back pressed up against the bedroom door. Right after Elio said, ‘yes, please,’ Oliver scooped him up bridal style as Elio threw his arms around Oliver’s neck.

“You know I don’t like being man handled,” mumbled Elio as Oliver grazed his teeth on Elio’s jaw line, arching his chest up against Oliver. Elio’s long slender fingers carded through Oliver’s hair. At that, Oliver growled low as he clawed his hand, just with his fingertips, up against Elio’s legs.

“So I’m your man, hm?” stated Oliver, half-lidded, his long lashes lightly brushing against Elio’s chiseled chickbone.

Oliver felt Elio smile against his lips as he traced the tip of his tongue on Elio’s upper lip. Tipping his head to the side, Elio nibbled Oliver’s lower lip. Oliver couldn’t help but to moan as Elio proceeded to playfully gnaw on his jaw line, arching his torso up as he pulled Oliver in close. Oliver ran his palm down along Elio’s legs, hooking his arm tight around Elio’s mid-back, putting one foot forward at a time. Elio adjusted his legs and climbed up against Oliver without breaking the kiss. He almost lost the balance as Elio tried to fish out his leg to straddle his body around Oliver’s waist. He said ‘sorry’ into Oliver’s mouth with a giggle as he shimmied his hip over Oliver’s. Two kissed on and on, parting only briefly to catch a breath. Oliver greedily cupped Elio’s firm gluts when Elio’s erection made a full contact on Oliver’s stomach. Only separated by two thin layers of thin fabric: Elio’s boxer shorts and Oliver’s running shirt. Elio moaned low into Oliver’s mouth.

“I see that you missed me just as much,” mumbled Oliver between kisses.

“Mhm,” Elio answered running his tongue along Oliver’s.

The sensation of a lighting shooting up and down his spine almost made Oliver’s knees buckle. So Oliver quickly swiveled on his heels, in the hallway, his chest heaving breathlessly, and gave Elio’s body a light thrust upwards. Elio wiggled a bit to get himself down. But Oliver rumbled two short ‘nuh, uh’ from the base of his throat and gently pushed Elio against the bedroom door. He then brushed his hand down and around Elio’s leg and gave a little squeeze there, as if to tell Elio, ‘keep ‘em there.’ In less than a split second, two spontaneously decided ‘tohellwithit’ and poured themselves into each other, right outside their master bedroom.

Elio reached down the side of Oliver’s lean yet firm torso, spectacularly failing to bunch up the sweaty t-shirt into his grasp. Oliver took a half-step forward, his eyes brimming with lust, his teeth gritting just so to subdue his growl, and leaned Elio’s back up against the door so his whole spine would be flushed against it. The rustic sliding single door let out a quiet thud. As Elio spread his fingers on Oliver’s skull, Oliver adjusted their hip alignment. He then reached his palm over to the back of his neck and grabbed the hem of his shirt.

“Off, off, off,” Elio repeated the word, pawing the heel of his palms on the rolling damp shirt, as Oliver pulled it over his head.

Having a spouse with a large hand that could grasp both of their erections comfortably, at the same time, always had its perks. Their lips were plump beyond measure but two kept seeking for more, not letting each other go. Cooling sweat made Oliver’s skin taut and made it easier for Elio to cling onto him. Oliver thrummed his fingers through the opening in the middle of Elio’s shorts and Elio whimpered between their kisses in monosyllabic low notes, as if to urge him to hurry along. Forehead to forehead, utterly out of breath, taking in short gasps, completely inundated with hunger and thirst for each other, Oliver started pumping his grip slowly around their ablaze desire. His middle finger in between, the vertical oscillation of Oliver’s hand was severely seductive and incredibly soothing all at the same time. Mouth parched, heaving steamy breaths, quivering in ecstasy beyond any words could describe, Elio gladly gave into the rhythm and let every cell of his body lit up just for Oliver.

How many couple could honestly say they came so hard that they saw stars?

Elio cried out his name, three times in a row, holding on to Oliver’ shoulder with his dear life. Oliver shuddered and trembled vigorously, pressing his palm against the door for balance. Elio licked in his own upper lip. Oliver smile-chuckled, catching his breath. Elio’s chest rumbled low and long, with a happy moan, when Oliver ran his now pleasantly tacky and cum caked grip once more, with a gradual squeeze along their still firm shafts, lightly rotating up, circling his thumb pad. Elio pressed his kiss-swollen lips on Oliver’s eyelids as if to say ‘thank you.’ Oliver’s Adam’s apple waved hard.

“What?” Elio quipped, “I thought you were taking me to bed,” coarse gasps evening out a little.

Oliver shook his head lightly with a wide grin.

“Come on, old man,” Elio booped Oliver’s nose, “now, please!”

*

 

Insatiable might not be the adequate word to describe what perspired today.

Two laid on their bed, legs still entwined, letting the breeze brush against their naked skin. Oliver muttered something about him being totally exhausted and Elio brightly retorted back with, ‘what happened to a little wearing out would not be too bad thing?’ But they were truly happy. On their third one, Elio let Oliver top him. As if the time had never passed, the passion and the fire the two had for each other have never ceased: just like that summer.

Two decades of blank years now no longer seemed to matter. Elio gained two sons; the eldest who looks so much like Oliver. The younger one has the essence of Oliver’s brilliant mind. Oliver and his ex-wife sorted things out eventually and four, no! correction, six of them have been a close extended family. Things couldn’t be more perfect.

During one of the community volunteering Oliver did, two met a little girl who resembled Vimini. So Oliver and Elio have been working on becoming foster to adopt parents. As they have already flushed out the in-s and out-s of their relationship, the preparation for becoming a foster family wasn’t as difficult: the questionnaires, the social worker visits, the screening process, the eligibility interviews, and every-n-all things to do. Strangely, Elio and Oliver felt that they became closer tackling a myriad of endless to-do-s.

“Shower, shower, shower,” giggled Elio as he held Oliver’s hand and pulled him to get his limp body off the bed.

*

 

**[Part Three: No Words, Just Hold My Hand]**

**Twenty four hours ago | mid-afternoon | Year 2009 and/or 2010-ish | Living room | Concord, NH**

“Ugrhhh–––, I hate you!”

“So should we read? Or would you like to go for a little stroll?” suggests Oliver.

“I miss the sun.”

“To the park, then,” declares Oliver, “Done!”

Then, Oliver hurries his fingers with a temperate smile on his face and after a few minutes, he closes the laptop. Elio beams warmly at his gesture.

*

 

**Same afternoon | City park | Concord, NH**

“RJ called and he said he wants you in the hospital board” says Elio, adjusting his head on Oliver’s chest.

Oliver groans a little and says he asked him not to call Elio and added, “you know I much prefer being on the center theater of ER.”

“Adrenalin junkie!” Elio teases.

“I’m getting old and I need to let the young and upcoming generation to take over the big boy stuff.”

“You said it, I didn’t.”

“Brat.”

“Only you call me that.”

Oliver chuckles.

Two talk about their excitement of meeting their future daughter coming Monday. Elio says if it would be okay to name her Vimini once everything is sorted. As usual, Oliver eases Elio’s slowly creeping anxiety with an assurance that he’d be there every step of the way and they’ll take one thing at a time.

On their way home, Oliver receives a text from one of his colleagues at NICU that they found the papers he has been looking for. Oliver apologizes to Elio and says that he’d be just picking up the copies from the hospital, adding it won’t take too long. Elio pouts and it makes him earn a kiss. As a bonus, Elio gratefully agrees to accompany him to the hospital. It’d be another hour before the commuter express train so it takes them a full hour from Concord to Hanover. Oliver dozes off leaning against Elio’s shoulder with their interlaced hands securely pressed against his chest.

Elio wakes him up showering Oliver with tiny soft kisses on his forehead and cheeks. Oliver groans out a content sigh with a long stretch, Elio’s hand still in his hold.

“I’ll uh---, I’m gonna get something to drink from the cafeteria,” volunteers Elio when they arrived at the lobby.

Oliver thanks him again, giving him a firm kiss on his temple. Two part. Oliver walks to the escalator leading to inpatient ward elevator. Elio, to the other direction, goes for the stairs down to the visitor’s lounge and cafeteria.

“Do you need some change?” bellows Oliver across the hall, at the back of Elio’s head.

“aw, Christ!” says Elio blushing hard, and throws the backs of index and third fingers up in the air.

Oliver waves his outstretched arm up in the mid-air, grinning ear to ear and mouths an exaggerated ‘I love you.’ Elio simply shakes his head.

*

 

Oliver waits a little since the NICU just rolled out a patient from an operating room. He texts Elio what he was doing. To that, Elio sends a tongue-out emoji. Oliver giggles.

That is when everything goes south.

It starts with an abnormally friendly overhead announcement. To everyone else, it may just be another background noise people easily ignore. Oliver gets up out of the chair and starts running down stairs frantically. It was complete frenzy. Of course, what else would it be?

When Oliver manages to get in touch with his day-shift crew down in the ER, he almost loses his balance.

*

 

At zero hour, the quarantine protocol launched at ER in a record time. From the ground floor and below, the area was completely sealed. Total of 16 people were on the hospital gurney in an individualized unit, curtained in thick clear vinyl. They told Oliver the outbreak was from a person who walked into cafeteria from ER waiting lounge. Witnesses told the official that he complained of the extended waiting and decided to get something really cold. After he fell into a critical condition shortly after he passed out, his grab holding Elio, 274 people were isolated and tested for a spectrum of infection. Eight people who were in the close vicinity of the patient zero, a receptionist, four from cafeteria, and the cab driver who was brought in at seventh hour via an ambulance of two crews were the unfortunate victims. At tenth hour, a CDC field team found the landlady, who happened to have a quarrel with the patient zero that morning, dead in her unit. Three hours later, the source of infection turned out to be viral and non-air bourn. Individuals who were not infected finally went home with two weeks worth of anti-virals. At 17th hour, a trauma surgeon, a third year resident, and two nurses who treated the patient zero were added as infected.

*

 

After five patients wheeled out cold, their orifices covered in bright red blood, the trauma team and CDC greenlight the alternative support care to reduce the damage by the progression of the infection. It takes three more hours before Oliver is allowed to visit Elio, in a full hazmat suit. It takes a while for Elio to notice him there, sitting on his bed side. His face ghost white, gaunt, lips chapped and dry, cold sweat layering his exposed skin, but he manages a small smile.

“Kevin blushed before he got the line in,” Elio jokes coughing painfully.

“hey…,” is all Oliver says.

Elio means the bruises and hickeys Oliver left on and around his inner thigh. Kevin is a second year trauma medicine resident who happens to be a big fan of Elio.

“Don’t worry,” Elio wheezes, “he’s too young for me.”

“Save your strength, Elio, please.”

“Listen, babe. The original copy is–”

Elio means the living will they drew up after they got married.

“Shhh, we’re not going to need it.”

“You’re allowed in here,” Elio continues, “I need to be tubed, right?” barely managing a smile.

Oliver doesn’t answer. Because it was the truth. Due to the severity of the condition, once the breathing tube is in, it may never come out. Fifteen minutes ago, Oliver had to literally fight his way in here, insisting that he’d need to see Elio before the response team tubes him. If it wasn’t for Silvia, twenty five year veteran trauma nurse, who backed him up, this probably wasn’t possible.

Elio manages a half smile, “Kevin told me. Even you said he’s really good.”

“Please…,” Elio gasps a ragged shallow breath, wheezing painfully, “please promise me you’d let me go.”

“Think of it as you catching up on your sleep.”

Elio nods.

“Babe,” says Elio, swallowing his tears, “I’m scared.”

Oliver mouths, ‘I know. I’m here.’

Then, Elio coughs, bright blood splirts from his mouth, as every monitoring system hooked up to him beep rapidly in a high note and buzz loudly at the same time. Kevin, one of the first year residents, and three of Oliver’s nurse team rush in as Oliver is dragged out by two armed response team.

“DAMN THE SUIT! ELIO!! LET GO OF ME! ELIO!!”

Kevin shouts sequence of directions, exposing Elio’s bare chest, cursing under his breath. And three nurses move with synchronized hands in midst of the chaos. Mario, the first year resident who volunteered, straddles on top of Elio, trying his best to do the chest compression through his thick hazmat suit.

“Where is that blood??” Kevin yells, “get Lewis on the line!”

Behind the thick vinyl curtain, Oliver stands helpless, his hair damp, his face streaking with tears.

*

 

It takes Oliver almost nine months to get Elio’s belonging released. His wallet, his star of david necklace, and his wedding band. His body wasn’t released as per the CDC protocol.

The water in the Monet’s berm is still freezing cold. The broad leaves still provide the wonderful cool shade. It is now a private property. Oliver respectfully requested a permission to be allowed in.

There are so many memories here.

Oliver quietly sits down on the field of grass, now more luscious than ever. Here’s where Elio kissed him for the first time. Oliver runs his finger tips on his lower lips. He can still taste him, remember how Elio’s lips felt against his, the way he moaned. Young and brazen yet ever so gentle and kind.

Over on the right is where they swam after their first night, in early dawn. And the next day, after Elio made love to him for the first time. He cradled his head as if he was the older one of the two.

Branches sway and Oliver lifts his head a little, shutting his eyes, filling his lungs.

A white t-shirt, a size too big, over a psychedelic blue shorts. His dark brown curls reflecting the sun light.

/"This is my spot. It’s all mine. I come here to read. Can’t tell you the number of books I read here.”/

The 17 year-old Elio turns around and smiles at him.

Oliver breathes out slowly through his nose as the hot tears streak down on his cheeks. His trembling lips part with a gasp. In a desperate and barely there whisper:

“Oliver–,

Oliver–,

Oliver–.”

 

| | | FIN | | |

**Author's Note:**

> Now you know the reason why I offered my apology up front. Not just for the length of this drabble. But… how I ended it. Well, also how it may seem a little more choppy than usual *awkward smile* Although this is not the first one I killed off Elio, it _wasn’t_ intentional. I kept trying to find a Hollywood-drama-ask last-minute miraculous save but I lost, as per usual. As I have mentioned before (by now, too many times *sigh*), me-brain first dumps a story and I always scramble to try my very best to transcribe it into words. Meaning, I don’t have much say on a lot of things. But! I am still sawee––.  
> .  
> This jumble of a mess began shortly after a little reading I did of a CDC report about the viral hemorrhagic fever outbreak in U.S. In September 2009, a doctor in New York reported to Florida’s Monroe Country about a patient who has returned from a vacation in Key West, showing symptoms of Dengue fever. 27 cases were identified just that year, 63 in 2010, from the said county.   
> .  
> I’m certain that smattering medical TV shows air in U.S. and UK (both past and present) probably had similar subject dealt in one of their series’ episodes. But all the procedural protocols and quarantine processes described here were complete fiction based on the little knowledge I have and the research I did.  
> .  
> –NCLEX-RN: National Council Licensure Examination for Registered Nurses.  
> –New Hempshire metro commute thingy is a pure fiction. Sadly, the real NH public transportation system is not as good, compare to the tri-state area.  
> –I have no affiliation or personal attachment to any of the location or establishment mentioned in this fic. Not an accurate depiction of the said organization, parties, and stakeholders.  
> –Oh, yes, I blatantly committed a cross over with another fandom I adore.  
> .  
>  **Special Thanks To** :(A–Z: this is my AO3 tradition ever since my first post. At the end of each fic I logo-vomit, you’d see this list. *giggle*)  
> Debmont8686,  
> Glam_PT,  
> hiSTEREKal007,  
> Kittenpurple,  
> VesperCat,  
> and anons who sent kudos, those who subscribed, and bookmarked.  
> .  
> As always, \Thank you/ all for reading, your time, and your interest, for this AU. :) *muwah* Feel free to comment below, if you’d like.  
> .  
>  **as of May 1st, 2019**  
>  if you'd like to drop a suggestion or have a question about any of my drabbles (i.e. clarification, background, etc.), please click [Request/Q&A page](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18658678) and post your comment. ;)


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